Flames
by thatfilmgirl
Summary: He wanted to save her. SamJess, Pilot. Multiple Character Death EVIL!Sam fic! You have been warned.


Title: Flames  
Rating: Hard R  
Warnings: Multiple Character Death  
Disclaimer: I think people are pretty glad right now that they aren't mine. 

* * *

He had planned to rescue her.

Her warm, sweet blood dripped onto his forehead, trickled down his hot, sweaty skin and into his eyes but he didn't notice. He could feel his eyeballs start to melt in their sockets, the flames licking Jess' ripped open, scantily-clad body and the heat warmed his body through his clothes. He screamed, not from the flames or the heat searing his skin, but her name, horrified at her twisted, frightened face, her cherry tasting mouth open in a scream that would forever echo in his brain.

_Sam! Sam, please! Help me!_

When Dean pulled him away, he fought him as hard as he could. Jessica needed him with her; she looked so afraid of her death and he needed to be with her, to push the fear away. He needed to pull her burning body into his arms and hold her tight.

_Are you okay?_

No, I'm not okay; he wanted to bite, to rip through Dean's concern and ruin his need to take care of him.

He was angry. They wouldn't let him go back in to carry his princess out.

No. They just let her burn in there.

Sam knew she would be okay if he could only get her out. He could heal her wounds.

Dean only had the time to widen his eyes in terror before his little brother ripped his skin with the knife that had been resting on the lamp stand. The silver slicing through Dean's flesh barely made a sound, only a faint ripping, and then the gurgling as the blood gathered in his windpipe.

Sam watched his brother stumble back, his hands clasping the gash that spread his neck in a futile effort to keep the warm liquid inside. It bubbled in his mouth, turning his lips a vivid red, running between his fingers and spilling onto his shirt.

When Dean fell to his knees, he was still staring up at Sam, betrayed.

It was a dramatic death; almost unrealistic. Dean should have just fallen on the floor but he'd always been stubborn andhe clung to life until Sam stepped forward, knife still in hand, and pressed a single finger against Dean's forehead and pushed him gently. He fell over with a thump, body limp, his slick hands falling away from his neck. Hazel eyes stared lifelessly up at the ceiling, his skin starting to pale and look sickly in the fluorescent light.

Dean's blood was warm on Sam's hands, dripping onto the tile floor of the tiny motel kitchen with a i plop /i like rain, only thicker. Hotter. Sam looked down at his brother with his throat ripped open, mouth open in a silent scream and he felt a wave of anger wash through him.

How dare he pull her away from his love? How dare he try to stop him from trying to save her, to pull her down from the ceiling?

His bloody, slippery hand grasped the knife and Sam's hand was steady as he brought the knife down, slicing cleanly through Dean's grey t-shirt, the flesh and cloth beneath separating like it was only air. The sound of knife meeting flesh was similar to the sound of the knife going through carrots when Jessica made dinner.

Sam pushed the blade through the skin until the shirt and mutilated chest became one, blood soaking into his jeans, slick over his hands and wrists.

Rituals ingrained since childhood floated to the front of his mind and he stood up slowly and grabbed the lone, black duffle bag by the door to retrieve the lighter fluid. Sam stood above his brother's body like a god looking over a sacrifice and let the bitter liquid spray into Dean's broken chest, soaking muscle and bone and the remnants of cloth. It splashed onto his terrified face, pooling in his open mouth, running down his chin and into the ripped open flesh of his neck like sour-smelling rainwater.

Sam struck the match with his teeth, the smell of sulphur burning his nose and he stared at the tiny flame. It danced; hot, red and gold and slowly burned down the wood, licking at his fingertips, until it blistered the sensitive skin. He released it, watched it fall and land on Dean's soaked body.

It wasn't like Jessica's beautifully horrifying death. This was vengeance and happiness rolled into a pleasant ball of satisfaction in the pit of his stomach.

He felt the heat, drank it in as he held his hand over the body engulfed in flames, warming his sticky fingers and casually wondered if there were marshmallows in Dean's bag with the M&Ms in their yellow plastic.

He grabbed the car keys and his duffle bag, hooking the strap over his shoulder while squirting a trail of lighter fluid from the burning body to the stove. Sam made sure he turned it on, blowing out the pilot light and leaving the gas hissing.

There was something nice about revenge.


End file.
